


Sharp and Sweet, Soft and Sound

by nameloc_ar_115



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Bookstore owner Derek, Derek is 34-40, Florist Stiles, Light A/B/O Dynamics, M/M, Married Couple, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Piercings, References to Mpreg, Slight Canon Divergence, Stiles is 20-26, Tattooed Stiles, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameloc_ar_115/pseuds/nameloc_ar_115
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After spending the last six years together, Stiles thought it was time to expand their family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Flowers

                The day had been slow. Honestly, Stiles preferred the bustle, the peace that accompanied hours of uninterrupted work. He had finished all of his orders that morning before even opening.

                The only bit of excitement he had to look forward to was a pick-up at one o’clock. Even with the dutiful attention he dedicated to every arrangement, it had only taken fifteen minutes. It was simple, two bouquets of white jasmine.

                Stiles kept his radio turned down to a low buzz and rumble, loud enough that he still hummed along when he knew the song playing.

                He was cutting the bottoms of carnation stems over the garbage can when the door opened, jingling the bell. It was old-fashioned, but he liked the vibration, the resonance. It was pure and reliable. He spent his days living between clinks of that bell. People coming and going.

                On days when some minutes were more painful than others, he vowed to himself that if he could make it to the next chime of that bell without crying, he was doing okay. People were surprised that he kept running the shop without her. Memories lived within the walls of this place, saturated every surface, and sometimes, they leaked out like noxious fumes, suffocating him.

                But the thought of selling it, of walking past and seeing shutters over the windows or no lights on inside was unbearable. She really would be gone. A new buyer would paint over her walls, tear down her sign, eviscerate her interior and stuff it with foreign fillings. Stiles couldn’t allow that to happen. This was his sanctuary, his homage.

                His pruning shears slipped off the stem he was trimming as he looked up. They _thunk_ ed into the side of the counter, gouging a small dent into the wood rather than his leg. So there was that.

                “H-hi, can I help you?” Stiles set the shears and bundle of flowers to the side before he really did impale himself.

                He squeezed the edge of the counter for support, feeling a wave of disequilibrium pass through him. A disruption of the inner ear, a rush of blood to the head after lying upside down. His body didn’t move, but something shifted inside of him.

                “I have a pick-up. For Hale.” His eyes were penetrating, clear, mosaic, and Stiles forgot what he was doing for a few moments, where he was, what he had said.

                “Right. Let me get that for you.” Stiles spun on his heel, darting into the back room before his blushing cheeks incriminated him. He could feel the heat rising from his face, his entire body. He had listened to Scott blather about pheromones and chemosignals, mostly in relation to Allison, but humans couldn’t recognize those molecules. And yet…this—this reaction was deep and rooted and chemical. Intertwined with his neurons and his glands and his blood vessels. His body responding on a base level that he couldn’t control.  

                All the guy had to do was stroll in and bat those dense, whipping eyelashes, and Stiles felt like he had been dropped on his head. He pressed his forehead to the cold box he kept in the backroom for special orders. It was really just an old fridge that kept the flowers fresh until pick-up time.  

                He scanned the labels on the transparent plastic wrapping cinched around the bouquets and pulled the two bunches of jasmine that read “Hale.” Looking at them now, Stiles thought the arrangements seemed meager and weedy. Maybe he should have added more, or not stripped so many of the leaves.

                Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. No, they were the way he always made them. The way she taught him to. A perfect handful, where his fingers just barely overlapped when circling the bundle of stems.

                He towed them carefully to the front counter and laid them between himself and the customer, checking his order sheet for the price.

                Hale handed over a credit card, and it took twice as long to ring him out because Stiles kept tapping the wrong buttons on the computer.

                “Did you want a bag for them?” Stiles asked breathlessly, handing over the ribbon of receipt paper.

                The guy probably thought he was new, was wondering why they let someone so green work by himself. Stiles didn’t think the man would believe that he had been helping around here since he was twelve. That his dad had his name on the lease but he was the one who ordered the flowers from the supplier and kept track of the sales and made all of the arrangements. He was the only living soul now who knew this shop from top to bottom.

                “Please.” Stiles pulled a plastic bag from the hook hanging off of the back of the counter. The thin, butter-soft plastic ones from the grocery stores that came in sheets and pulled apart. His long fingers fumbled, trying to find purchase and tease the sides apart. For several horrible seconds, there were no sounds except for the soft lull of the radio and the rustling of that fucking plastic bag as Stiles tried to open it.

                Heat flooded his lower back and his neck and his face, sweat prickling at his hairline. When he finally passed the bag across the counter, a small smile curled the guy’s lips, accentuated the soft, etched creases at the corners of his eyes.

                “Thank you. Have a nice day.” The man didn’t move, and his smile grew bigger, until he had to press his teeth into his bottom lip to staunch his laughter. Stiles flushed hotly, legs quivering—thankfully out of view from behind the counter. People could be rude, yeah, but they didn’t usually snicker in his face. “Um…”

                “My card.” Hale pointed at Stiles’ hand, the one gripping the man’s credit card so hard that it was bending and creaking in protest.

                “Oh, shit, sorry.” Stiles slid it across the countertop so that his sweaty hands wouldn’t betray him. He stuffed them into his back pockets.

                “Thanks,” the guy murmured, amusement still coloring his tone. Stiles watched the spring and flex of that ass until the door closed behind Hale and the bell jangled once more.

                He slumped and withered in his seat behind the counter, feeling raw inside. Like someone had reached into his body and jumbled all of his organs. He was overheated, his dick stirring in his jeans, and he couldn’t tell if he was turned on or mortified. What _the fuck_ was that guy?

                Stiles turned the radio louder and starting cutting stems again. He looked wistfully down at his pruning shears. He should have just stabbed himself in front of the customer and gotten the humiliation out of the way early; it would have been so much easier.


	2. The Closing Sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that "Time Skips" is the operative tag for this fic. While all of the chapters are chronological, they are not continuous.

                “Will you please tell me where we’re going?” he whined, trudging after his friend.

                “We’re here.” Scott smiled brightly, stopping in front of one of the many shops along the main street in town.

                Stiles gave the building a cursory glance. “You want to spend our nights off at a bookstore? I’m worried about you, buddy.”

                Scott’s grin widened in response, carving dimples into his face. “Just come on, Stiles.”

                He sighed and followed Scott into the shop.

                The interior was old-fashioned. Dark wood and warm, yellow light from reading lamps. Except for the front-facing one bearing the windows, the walls were built-in bookshelves, patterned by multicolored spines. There was even one of those rolling ladders to reach books on the higher shelves. The shop had a cramped but comfy-charming vibe going for it that Stiles could appreciate.

                And then something infinitely more interesting caught his eye, and he wrenched Scott behind one of the free-standing shelves.

                “You _asshole,_ ” he hissed.

                Scott was wearing his stern expression, his tough-love, for-your-own-good expression. A formidable weapon that he reserved for special occasions. His smile disappeared, mouth straightening, and his brows furrowed. “Stiles, you’ve been mooning over him for three weeks. You need the closure.”

                “Like I haven’t listened to you describe Allison’s dimples— _all_ of her dimples—in excessive detail,” he grumbled.

                Scott gripped his shoulders. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

                Stiles’ voice transformed into a hysterical whisper as he realized Scott’s intentions. “Don’t leave me here by myself. Scott, he is too sexy. I’m going to fuck this up.”

                The alpha held up his hands and started to back away. “I’ve done my job as your eternal wingman. The rest is up to you.”

                “Wait.” He scrabbled at his best friend’s jacket sleeve. “How will I get home?”

                “I’ll leave the Jeep. Allison knows to pick me up.”

                His mouth dropped open. “Her, too? You _scheming_ sons of bitches.”

                “Love you.” Scott patted his shoulder and made a quick escape through the front door of the shop.

                Stiles cowered behind that bookshelf for several more seconds. If he left now, he probably wouldn’t have the nerve to come back, and Scott wouldn’t push him again. For some reason, the thought of leaving was more painful than the risk of embarrassment. He felt this unprecedented pull towards Hale, compelling on an animalistic level Stiles didn’t know existed within himself.

                He opted to look around the shop first, work up some courage, maybe piece together a coherent fragment of a conversation. He was probably still acting beyond conspicuous.  

                The poetry section was located against the wall opposite from the counter, offering the most cover, so that’s where Stiles retreated. He perused for a minute or two before pulling a random volume from the shelf and then planted himself in one of the cushioned chairs scattered around the shop. If he leaned leftwards, the bookshelves misaligned just so that he had a view of the front counter. Of Hale.

                Every bout of uninterrupted ogling made him feel sleazy, and he swore to himself that he would stop reading and go talk to Hale. Any minute now.  

                  One minute turned into two and then ten, and it wasn’t until a voice sounded right in front of him that he was pulled back to his surroundings. He jerked in the chair, plastering the open book to his chest.

                “Most people aren’t bold enough to try and read the entire book in here without buying it first.” The shop owner’s arms were crossed over his chest, but his eyes were glistening with humor. Stiles always seemed to amuse him, especially when he wasn’t trying to.

                He stood suddenly, feeling scolded, and blurted hurriedly, “I’m going to buy it, I promise. I lost track of time.”  

                “It’s fine. Normally I’d let you go, but the store closed five minutes ago.”

                “Sorry. Sorry, I’ll go.” He really wished he would stop doing things around the man that necessitated constant apologies.  

                “Let me check you out first.”

                His heart nearly collapsed in his poor, overworked chest. “ _What?_ ” That same surging heat lapped at his face and the back of his neck, making him restless and too-tight in his skin.

                Hale’s lips split into a small smile. “The book.”

                “ _Oh_ , oh yeah, of course.” The guy made his way back to the front counter, and Stiles followed, shoulders drooping as the voice in his head embarked on a scathing mental soliloquy.

                He wanted to scream that he was a normal, functioning human being. Honestly, he was. Something just happened when they were together that made Stiles lose all perception of socially acceptable behavior…and the English language. It would probably come out too desperate to be believable.

                Dejectedly, he placed the book on the counter. The tattered remains of his sense of self-preservation urged him to remain silent. However, opportunity was slipping away from him with every key Hale tapped on the register’s computer, and he had already overstayed his welcome. His hands twitched at his sides, breath halting in his throat as he struggled to say something, _anything_ before he left.  

                The man asked, “Anything else?” before finishing the transaction, and Stiles panicked. Said the first thought that was tumbling through his head. Anyone who knew him would have agreed that that was not the best idea.

                “You.”

                Hale’s finger hovered over top of the key he was about to press, and he flicked his stare over to him. “Excuse me?” His voice was even, but his eyes were dangerous and focused, nailing Stiles to the spot where he stood.

                Stiles was too humiliated by this point to even acknowledge his trembling tone. “I would like…you. Please.” It wasn’t like he could pretend he hadn’t said it. He would feel even more despicable if he didn’t take responsibility for it now.  

                Scott was going to laugh his ass off when he went back to the apartment tonight.

                The guy stepped out from behind the counter, and Stiles swallowed tightly. Oh god, he was going to get punched in the face for being an offensive asshole.

                His breathing shallowed, a rush of hormones making him lightheaded. Blood surged to the direct undersurface of his skin, thumping and beating at his neck and his temples. He was actually sweating now.

                His mouth was dry, but he breathed out, “I just—I’m sorry. Terribly sorry. There’s just not enough sorry.” He stumbled over his foot as he took a step backwards.   

                 Hale seemed to be ignoring his pathetic apology, eyes skipping over Stiles’ face and body with purpose. Not appraising but more…concerned. An adorable little crease had situated itself between those dark, heavy eyebrows. “You’re shaking. Are you alright?”

                “Me? I’m—” _Sweaty and babbling like a complete fucking idiot._

                “You should sit down.” The shop owner moved closer, cupping one elbow presumably to help him to a chair. Stiles felt the warmth of the hand on his bare arm and grew suddenly, unbearably hot all over.

                The man inhaled sharply, his eyes burning neon blue like the tube light signs at the tattoo parlor. For the first time, Hale looked a bit discomposed, too, with his mouth parted, nostrils flaring.

                Oh, fucking hell, Stiles knew what was happening. His knees truly buckled, and he grabbed Hale’s sturdy forearms for support. He wanted to melt into the floor when he felt a bead of slick roll and tickle down his taint.

                “Sit. Come on, sweetheart.” Hale’s hands burned prints into one shoulder and his lower back as he guided him into the closest chair.

                Stiles dropped into it with a heavy exhale, wiping the film of sweat off of his forehead with his t-shirt sleeve.

                Hale moved to the front door of the shop, flipping the sign so that “open” was now facing the inside. The tumblers clicked into place as he locked the door. He returned to crouch in front of the chair, arms hanging over his knees.

                “When’s your heat?”

                “Four days,” Stiles murmured. Even if the wolf couldn’t smell it, he would hear the lie in Stiles’ heartbeat if he was dishonest.  

                “I know it’s easier said than done, but try to calm down. You’re driving yourself into a preheat.”

                Stiles nodded. It had never happened to him before, but it was common knowledge. The kind of shit they taught in middle school health class. The anxiety and arousal was perturbing the cocktail of hormones swirling inside of him this close to his heat.  

                And Hale’s presence had a way of evoking a bodily response from him.  

                “I’ll get you some water.” He saw the shopkeeper open a door behind the counter and ascend a flight of stairs. Probably lived on the second story for convenience’s sake.          

                Stiles tried to focus on taking deep breaths, but then the trauma would wash over him in fresh, brutal waves. Not only had he propositioned a guy so far out of his league they were in different galaxies, but he had also assuredly lost a customer. The proverbial cherry on top was that he kept pitifully recalling the way Hale had called him “sweetheart.”

                His eyes snapped open when he heard the footsteps on the stairs. The man returned with a glass of water and handed it to him. The coolness was nice, countering some of the heat scorching through him.

                “Thanks,” he said quietly, nursing the water. “I just wanted to apologize again,” he pinched the bridge of his nose woefully, “for what I said. I wasn’t trying to feed you a cheap pick-up line. I just. I say everything wrong when I’m around you.”

                Hale peered down at his folded hands, sporting a nerve-wracking, private little smile. “I figured. Most people don’t spend two hours sneaking glances at someone if they know what they want to say.”

                “Oh god.” Stiles covered his face with his free hand. “I won’t bother you again. And I promise I’m not stalking you. My friend, Scott, brought me here, and I—”

                “You’re so fucking cute.”

                He peeked at the guy through his splayed fingers. “Could you repeat that?”

                “Especially when you’re flustered,” Hale added softly, leaning forward. “What’s your name?”

                “Stiles.”

                “I’m Derek.” They shook hands, and Stiles laughed self-consciously through it. It was the only normal exchange they had shared so far.  

                “So, you’re a wolf? My best friend is, too.” He took a gulp of water before his brain derailed and something horrible burst out of his mouth. Again.

                Derek’s forehead creased. “How did you know?”

                “Your, uh, your eyes were glowing before. Blue means beta, right?”

                “Huh.” The word was punctuated with surprise, and Derek’s eyes darted unseeingly as he considered something. “Yeah, my wolf’s a beta.”

                “And your human half?—Not that your orientation matters to me or anything. Or that it’s any of my business in the first place.” He muttered a “Jesus Christ” under his breath before snapping his mouth closed. His knack for self-sabotage was just incredible.   

                “I’m an alpha,” Derek chuckled.  

                “Oh. Cool. Good.”

                It wasn’t the 1920s any more where pairings only occurred between alphas and omegas or amongst betas. Scott and Allison were both alphas, and they were the poster couple of the century.

                The fact that Derek was an alpha really was inconsequential to him. For god’s sake, the man had gemstones for eyes and smelled like some kind of pine-fresh fucking evergreen tree. Stiles would want to jump him whether he was an omega or a human or anything else.

                Stiles clicked his tongue ring against his bottom teeth in the brief silence, mentally scrambling for any thread of conversation to tug. “How did those flowers work out for you? Lucky man or woman, whoever they were, to get two bouquets,” he joked lightly.  

                “Not sure, but they cheered up the headstones.” Half of the water went down Stiles’ trachea, and he coughed violently, eyes watering. Just. Just kill him now. He croaked, “Oh, Derek, I didn’t mean to—” 

                The wolf shook his head gently. “I only mentioned it because I heard about your mother a few months ago.” Derek’s eyes made contact with his. “I always bought the flowers for my parents’ graves from her. I liked her.”

                “Thank you,” Stiles whispered, taking a sip of water purely for something to do. He was caught a little off-guard, and the last thing he wanted to do was start bawling.  

                “I know it’s different for you, but if you need to talk to someone. Someone not so close…I’m here.”      

                Stiles drew his thumb up and down the condensation of the glass. “That’s a dangerous offer. I’m a rambler…if you haven’t noticed already.”

                A gentle smile crept onto Derek’s face. “I meant it. I like you, Stiles.”

                Stiles lifted his gaze warily back to the man. “That’s kind of remarkable. I haven’t made the best first impression. Or second impression.”

                “The third one will be better,” Derek assured.  

                Once he convinced the wolf that he could drive himself home safely, he left. Derek had chased him down the sidewalk, handing over the book of poems he had forgotten on the counter. It slid around the passenger’s seat on the ride to his and Scott’s apartment, and only when he pulled into his parking space did he notice a slip of paper sticking out of the middle of the pages.  

                His receipt. With a phone number scribbled onto the bottom corner. He bit into his bottom lip to contain his delirious grin.

                Overall, he’d say it was a pretty good night.   


	3. The Dinner

                “Dad, I know you feel obligated, but _please_ put your gun away.”

                The sheriff had been cleaning his glock at the table with particular menace for the last twenty minutes, and Derek was supposed to arrive within the next ten.

                “I’ll put it away when your boyfriend gets here. The boyfriend fourteen years your senior who you didn’t tell me about until a week ago.” His father sent him a pointed look.

                “We’ve only been dating for three months. I didn’t see the point in raising your blood pressure for no reason if it didn’t work out.”

                “He’s thirty-four.”

                Stiles pulled the chicken out of the oven and set it on the stovetop. “He also treats me inarguably well and makes me happy. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

                His dad grumbled under his breath and cleaned the barrel with renewed vigor. “Tell me you’re being responsible, Stiles. While I would love grandchildren—”

                “ _Oh my god_ , please stop.” He nearly dropped the plates he was carrying over to the table to cover his ears.

                “ _Stiles_ ,” his father retorted with equal suffering.

                “We haven’t—” Stiles’ face flushed. “He’s a good guy. You’ll see that if you give him a chance.”

                 Stiles heard a sigh as he opened the drawer to pull out the silverware. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, kiddo. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of you.” His dad looped an arm around his shoulder and leaned in to kiss the side of his scalp.

                “I know, but you could trust my judgment. I was raised by the best after all.” The sheriff snorted and squeezed his shoulder before returning to the table.

                “Fine, I’ll be nice. But if he hurts you, I’m going to shoot him. And I’ll be able to get away with it, too.” He pointed to the badge pinned to his lapel for emphasis.  

                Stiles exhaled. “Fair enough.”

                When the doorbell rang, the table was already set and his father’s gun had been deposited safely back into its work holster.

                Stiles opened the door and lost his words. Lost all the words. He finally sputtered out, “Holy Christ, Derek.”

                “What?” His boyfriend smoothed the front of white button-down shirt with one hand, checking for stains or blemishes. Derek’s beard had been trimmed to a neat, thick scruff, and his goddamn twinkle eyes were sparkling like snowflakes in the sunlight.

                “You look unbearably stunning, if you haven’t noticed. And—oh my god, what is _that_?”

                Derek looked puzzled before following Stiles’ eyes to the foil-wrapped dish in his hands. “I brought pie for dessert since you cooked. It’s sugar-free because I know you don’t want your dad—”

                Stiles flailed his arms in a wordless urgency. “Put the pie on the coffee table so that I can ravish you before my father walks in.”

                Derek laughed and set the pie on the end table nearby. He shook his head fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

                The words were cut short as Stiles latched onto him, wrapping his arms around his neck, kissing him with a fierce affection.

                Stiles broke away, panting. “A fucking sugar-free pie. Are you kidding me, Derek?”

                He dove back into his boyfriend’s mouth, tongue-fucking him as efficiently as possible.

                “I can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with me,” Derek murmured between kisses.

                Stiles pulled away again. “Well, duh. I’m about two seconds from blowing my load, you perfect specimen.”

                “So, I take it this is Derek.” Stiles froze and then dropped his forehead against his boyfriend’s chest.

                “You heard that last bit, didn’t you, Dad?” He peeked out from the safety of Derek’s pecs to glance at his father.

                “You talk loudly when you’re excited,” the sheriff grunted. 

                “I tried to warn you, but you kept talking over me,” Derek said, choking halfway through to contain his laughter, rubbing Stiles’ arms apologetically.

                “Tell me about it, son.” His dad brushed past him and shook Derek’s hand.

                “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

                “You, too, Derek.” His father placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder and proceeded to guide him back towards the kitchen. Stiles was still rooted to the doormat, dumbfounded by his father’s abrupt pleasantness. Acting like he and Derek were old buds. “Now, son, exactly what kind of pie did you bring with you?”  


	4. The Pastries

                His heats were much milder at twenty than they were at fifteen. But it was like that for most omegas. The early heats were frantic and frenzied, several days of febrile skin and insatiable arousal. Scott had helped him through those first two brutal years. Long nights of the alpha sitting outside of Stiles’ bedroom door, bringing food and wet wash cloths every few hours, keeping him hydrated. Stiles hadn’t wanted his father anywhere near him when he was in such a state.

                When he turned seventeen, the fever of heat softened into a warm, encasing glow. His hormones shifted to levels sufficient to foster his fertility without driving him half-mad. He started taking birth control that year, which only further helped to restrict his heats to one to two days a month.  

                Still, he was overheated and horny and tired during that brief window, so he only worked half-days at the flower shop until his heat passed.

                He wasted no time in changing the moment he got home from work, switching into what Scott had deemed his “booty shorts” and a cutoff shirt with deep slits down the sides. He would have foregone clothes altogether if not for the guilt associated with sprawling naked across the couch that Scott and Allison also frequently used.

                He spread-eagled across the couch cushions, draping one leg over the opposite armrest and the other over the back of the couch. He stretched languidly, cracking his toes and his ankles, trying to focus on the TV in front of him to pass some time.   

                What felt like every thirty seconds, he would clamp around the baby-blue plug lodged snugly in his ass. He had slipped it inside this morning after waking to the telltale, greedy clench of his hole and the cool wetness of his own slick running over his balls. The plug took the edge off, satisfied him enough so that he could go to work without being too distracted.

                But that had been earlier. Usually, by this point in the day, Stiles would have jerked off several times already, saving the more intensive activities for when he returned to the apartment. He hadn’t touched himself yet today, and he was determined not to break his own self-restraint in the final hour.   

                Derek would be here as soon as he finished work himself.

                With a little manipulation, the stars had aligned in Stiles’ favor this month. The shop was closed tomorrow since it was Sunday, and Derek’s cousin who was home from college had offered to run the bookstore for the odd day and a half while the wolf was here. Scott had solved the final hang-up by fleeing to Allison’s for the weekend, well aware of what a special occasion this heat would be. So, amidst full-time jobs and roommates and other commitments, he and Derek had secured the apartment for themselves for two days. 

                Squeezing around his plug eventually became more of a tease than a relief, so Stiles alternated to massaging his balls through his thin shorts. He had earlier flung his underwear to the side of his bedroom with intense resentment, desperate to be free of the additional confinement. His balls were always a little sore during his heats, aching like a deep-muscle cramp. Kneading them provoked an explosion of sensation: a blunt pain and an itchiness and a pulsing pleasure. All zipping along his neurons straight to his cock, causing a fine mist of sweat to gather on his skin, his toes to curl violently.   

                Derek knocked eight minutes later, with Stiles sporting an unrelenting, raging hard-on as he tried to watch sitcom reruns.  

                “It’s open,” he called.

                When Derek entered the apartment, Stiles felt his body melt into the cushions. Now that his heatmate was here, it was so easy to slip into a state of relaxation, to let his muscles uncoil.

                “Hey,” Stiles greeted, a dopey smile crossing his face. He outstretched his hand, urging the wolf to come to him.

                Derek kind of always had the ability to reduce him to a pining puddle of goo, and the heat hormones were only exacerbating that effect. Upon seeing his boyfriend, Stiles couldn’t decide whether he wanted to fuck him senseless or cuddle him.

                “Hey, baby.” The wolf spoke with such fondness, such tenderness, that Stiles simpered, his chest tightening. In the past, his limited number of boyfriends and girlfriends had given him compliments and flattered him, sure. But no one smiled at him, looked at him the way the alpha did. No one had ever made him feel special until Derek.

                Derek sat on the edge of the couch at the level of Stiles’ hip, placing a grocery bag on the coffee table.

                “So, what’s the verdict? I look pretty sexy, right?” Stiles joked, gesturing to his fashionable outfit, sweaty skin, bird’s-nest hair. He ruffled his shirt over his belly, stirring a cool breeze against his skin.

                “Absolutely,” Derek answered, kissing Stiles’ knee that hung over the couch. The alpha’s hand followed his mouth and then paused on his thigh. “Why didn’t I know about this?” His voice was quiet and teasing as he flicked his eyes between Stiles’ face and newly exposed tattoo.  

                “Maybe you shouldn’t have waited five months to see me without clothes on,” Stiles bantered, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to suppress his grin. The wolf’s hand was still lingering on his left thigh, fingers sweeping over the watercolor portrayal of a red fox.

                Derek had only seen the half-sleeve on his right arm, mainly because of its innocuous location and its size. The tattoo extended from shoulder to elbow, a collage of orchids. The outline was finished, and he had an appointment in two weeks to start filling in the color. When finished, the petals would be blends of pink and purple and orange and blue.

                That one was for his mother, of course; she deserved a large canvas.

                Derek chuckled and began to thumb over his sensitive inner thigh. The alpha knew it was driving him crazy, making him want to kick out his leg like a dog being scratched.

                “And by the way,” the wolf commented, “I love your haircut.”

                Stiles combed through his hair automatically, assuredly making it look even worse. “Scott did it for me. I used to buzz the whole thing in high school, but I told him to keep the top long.” He paused and licked over his lips. “So you would have something to hold onto while I sucked your cock.”

                “You’re a nuisance, you know that?” Derek murmured, his irises bordered in blue, halfway between wolf and human. He scratched the shaven side of Stiles’ scalp with a subtle reverence.

                Stiles shamelessly leaned into the treatment and stretched, hyperaware of how the seam of his shorts pressed along the shaft of his dick, bisected his heavy sac. He exhaled slowly. “What did you bring?”  

                “Something for you.” The wolf pulled a clear, disposable container out of the bag.

                Stiles would never admit to outwardly moaning over pastries, but he totally did.

                “How did you know?” He beamed, cradling the container of apricot strudel bites against his chest.

                Derek smiled softly, pleased for the simple reason that he had pleased Stiles. “I asked Scott. He said it was your go-to after your heats.”

                Stiles set the desserts back onto the table where they wouldn’t get smashed. He was ravenous before and after his heats, but not so much during. His body was far too preoccupied with other needs at that time.

                Stiles intertwined their fingers, his eyes threatening to overflow. “ _Thank you_. Like, really,” he sniffed, “This is just so thoughtful and—Fuck, okay, sex me up. Sex me right now, Derek. I’m not kidding.”

                His boyfriend snorted and leaned down to kiss him. On the neck and behind his ear and over his mouth. Gently, fingers touching under Stiles’ chin and the hinge of his jaw, provoking a wave of heat to crash under the surface of his skin.

                He whimpered before pulling away. “Wait,” Stiles blurted, grabbing handfuls of Derek’s t-shirt. “Scott and I have a strict no-sex-in-the-common-areas rule. My bedroom is the second on the left.”

                Derek gripped him underneath one thigh and around his middle back, towing him easily to the back bedroom.

                “I could have walked, but you know, this is good, too. Better even,” he breathed, bouncing onto the mattress.

                “You just get comfortable. I’ll be right back,” Derek promised, cupping his cheek.

                Stiles rubbed his bare thighs together restlessly and warned, “Don’t be long. I think my dick is going to spontaneously combust soon.”

                The wolf returned seconds later with the same grocery bag and dropped it onto the nightstand.

                Derek crawled onto the bed, turning his attention back to Stiles. “Sweetheart, you’ve been so patient for me all day. I can tell you haven’t come yet. Can you give me a few more minutes?”

                Stiles nodded, panting, sweat accumulating in the valleys and dips of skin. His body was anticipating the sex, becoming more overworked with every passing second.

                “I might have a few surprises left for you,” he rasped as Derek pushed up the hem of his shirt.  

                Stiles shuddered with pleasure at the alpha’s sharp inhale.  

                “Baby, you are so beautiful.” Derek’s voice had turned ragged. The alpha’s fingers trembled against his skin, tickling across the delicate, silver bars pierced through both of Stiles’ nipples. His inner omega purred and preened and ached to present himself to his heatmate.  

                Meanwhile, Stiles twitched at the stimulation, arching into Derek’s wandering hands. The wolf relented in order to trace the black-and-white tattoo of his father’s sheriff badge, inked into his left pectoral.

                “Derek, don’t make me wait any longer.” He writhed when fingers slid under the waistband of his shorts, dragging the fabric down his legs in a maddening caress.

                “I’m going to take such good care of you,” the alpha whispered, placing one of Stiles’ legs over each side of his lap. “Oh, Christ.” Derek had finally glimpsed the plug embedded in his hole, circling a finger around his taut rim.  

                “I know,” Stiles gasped. “I know you will. I couldn’t—I couldn’t trust anyone else with this except you.” His chest heaved, so fragile and desperate in front of Derek.

                The wolf responded with a kiss, deep and raw and starved, making Stiles’ jaw ache sweetly, the smack of their lips crisp in the silent apartment. Stiles plunged his hands into Derek’s hair and moaned when the alpha flicked their tongues together, playing with the ball of Stiles’ tongue ring.

                 “I love you,” Derek murmured against his lips.

                “Me, too. Me, too.” His voice cracked with welling tears. “I love you so much.”

                The wolf traveled down his body, licking over a pierced nipple, stray beauty marks, each hip bone.

                Derek didn’t tease him now. He twisted the plug carefully until it slipped from Stiles’ hole and laid it aside. In perfect synchronization, the alpha sank two fingers into his asshole and swallowed his cock.

                Stiles keened and jerked from the barrage of sensation, tears leaking over his temples in sweet relief. He undulated his hips as gently as he could manage, up into Derek’s mouth and down onto his hand.   

                He only lasted a few minutes before tumbling into orgasm, wrapping tightly around Derek for sloppy afterglow kisses.

                He grunted when the alpha pulled his fingers free, slick dripping down over Derek’s knuckles. Stiles watched with rapt attention as the wolf sucked those fingers into his mouth, eyes burning bright blue, humming in pleasure.

                “Clothes off,” Stiles begged, tearing impatiently at his boyfriend’s shirt. His ass was still clenching from his recent orgasm, his cock still throbbing, but he was ready for another. He needed Derek’s cock.  

                Derek rose to his knees, a flirtatious edge to his smile. He worked his shirt over his head, muscles rippling, bones jutting in a gorgeous display. Stiles reached out to feel, saliva pooling in his mouth.  

                While the wolf kicked out of his jeans, Stiles rolled onto his stomach and spread his knees wide, grinning when he heard Derek’s affected groan. He perfected his position, savoring the tautness in his inguinal ligaments, in the adductors of his inner thighs. An unbelievable gratification accompanied the stretch of his muscles, the concavity of his spine as he tipped his ass high into the air, the cradle of his pelvis opening up and flattening.

                He knew. He knew in that moment that he would never present for anyone else again.

                Derek’s firm thighs pressed against his as he covered Stiles’ body with his own, placing a kiss on the _ankh_ tattooed between his shoulder blades. “Condoms?” he whispered, breath hot against Stiles’ ear.

                “Bedside drawer. Grab five. Ten—You should probably just bring out both boxes.”

                “Easy, sweetheart,” the wolf soothed, hovering over him once more with a condom in hand. “We have the rest of the day.” He smoothed a hand over Stiles’ side and kissed the dip of his lower back. “The rest of the night.” Mouthed at the dimples above his ass. “Tomorrow.” Sucked at the flat wedge of his tailbone.

                “Please, please,” Stiles sobbed, flexing his hips even farther.

                 Derek’s arms braced themselves on either side of his ribcage, and a second later, he was working his cockhead past Stiles’ rim. Pushing steadily deeper until he filled that crucial, empty space in Stiles’ body.

                “Oh-h,” Stiles moaned, airy and brittle, grabbing fistfuls of his sheets. His eyes were closed, his forehead pressing into his mattress. There was nothing but the solid plunge of Derek’s cock into his ass and Derek’s lips on the back of his neck. His voice quavered when he spoke. “Derek, you’re so good. So good to me. Gonna fuck me just how I need it. How no one else can.” The wolf’s next thrust battered his prostate, and Derek tilted his head back gently, enough so that he could smash their lips together.

                The alpha slipped a hand underneath them to brush over Stiles’ nipples, to reach downwards and stroke his dripping dick.

                “Faster,” Stiles pleaded. Derek didn’t ask for clarification, just sped up the hammering of his cock, the jerking of his hand.

                Stiles crumpled in on himself when he came, his second orgasm tearing through him, hot and bright like striking lightning. He tried to memorize Derek’s rumbling moan as he came, the alpha’s hands skimming so lovingly over his thighs and hips during his come-down.

                Derek dropped to the side of the bed, lifting his arm so that Stiles could nestle against his side, drop his head onto the wolf’s chest. Stiles sighed in contentment and planted a tiny kiss to his boyfriend’s sternum, a hand landing in his hair.

                “You know,” Stiles began, scratching through Derek’s chest hair, “I wasn’t making an idle offer earlier. I really want to suck your dick. The fact that I haven’t yet is kind of an affront to the universe.”

                The wolf’s face split into a lovely smile. “Whatever you want, but first, you need to eat something.” Derek grabbed the bag off of the nightstand and pulled out a packet of peanut butter crackers and a bottle of water.

                Stiles turned the package over in his hands. “I haven’t had one of these since I was in kindergarten and my mom packed my lunch,” he giggled, elbowing his boyfriend.

                “They have fat, sugar, and protein. Everything you need to stay strong.” Derek pecked his temple.         

                “There’s something else you could feed me. Something with lots of protein,” Stiles suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

                The wolf rolled his eyes good-naturedly, cracking open the cap of the water bottle and foisting it on him. “Hush. Eat.”

                Stiles crunched on one cracker. It was good; salty and sweet and light. But he was so far from hungry right now, especially with Derek sitting naked next to him. The lines of the wolf’s body so graceful and pretty and just out of reach.

                “The whole thing,” Derek insisted, pushing the half-empty packet back into Stiles’ hands. The alpha nipped at his ear, sucking on the lobe afterwards to soothe the sting. It derailed Stiles’ concentration, to say the least, his dick growing hard again. The wolf helped him to regain his focus, murmuring, “Once you finish that, you can sit on my face. I’ll eat you out until you come on nothing but my tongue.”

                Stiles choked two times in his hurry to demolish the rest of the snack.


	5. The Catalogue

                “Stop laughing,” Stiles groaned as he flopped onto the carpet of Derek’s living room. His boyfriend sat next to him, expression tight-lipped as he tried to contain his chuckling. “Take pity on me. I’m only human, and we just went up and down that flight of stairs ten million times.”

                The summer warmth had made the back and pits of Stiles’ t-shirt damp with sweat. He was panting, his legs gelatinous from climbing the fifteen-step stairwell repeatedly to unload his possessions from the back of his Jeep and Derek’s SUV.

                “And yet, you still have the energy to sass me. I think you’ll be fine,” Derek murmured, leaning over to kiss him. Stiles hummed and hitched a leg over Derek’s hip without finesse, tangling his fingers in thick, coal-black hair.   

                Stiles hadn’t expected to feel so affected; they spent so much time at each other’s apartments already that living together was almost inevitable. Definitely more convenient since he couldn’t remember whether half of his things were at his place or Derek’s. Regardless, all day he had found himself flooded with endorphins that pinned a smile to his face, kept his belly light with a sensation akin to zero gravity.

                Derek wanted him, every morning and every night. Constant Stiles. A marathon of Stiles. He couldn’t help but bask in that extraordinary feeling. 

                Since Scott had moved out six months ago, leaving his old apartment wasn’t too painful. Scott had recently finished his vet assistant program, and he and Allison had celebrated by scraping together their incomes to rent a nicer place of their own. Just last week Scott had told him that the next thing he intended to save up for was an engagement ring.    

                “You are now fully entrenched in cohabitating bliss. You’re welcome.” Stiles grinned brightly.

                “Does ‘cohabitating bliss’ include you drinking the last of the orange juice without putting it on the grocery list? Leaving a lake of water on the bathroom floor after showering? And that thing with your fingernails—”

                Stiles strained upwards and crushed his mouth back to Derek’s, stopping the flow of words. “Shut up, you love me.”

                “I do,” the wolf softly agreed, stroking through Stiles’ hair.

                Dating Derek for the last two years had confirmed one of Stiles’ early suspicions about the wolf: he was a romantic. Not in the way that involved extravagant surprises or grandiose gifts or any large gestures at all. Just small things that he did every day. Simple things. Light touches, fingertips streaking over Stiles’ nape when they crossed paths in the mornings, getting ready for work. Hushed compliments  in his ear, unbidden, that made him grow hot. The way Derek’s apartment was always stocked with his favorite foods even though he had never mentioned half of them. His alpha paid attention, never took for granted.  

                By far, the most precious display of his love was what Stiles had come to call “the catalogue.” Only in his head, of course, because while he often teased the wolf, his intention had never been to be cruel. It was important to his boyfriend in a way that he didn’t understand, couldn’t.  

                The alpha performed it like a ritual, or maybe even an act of worship. The same every time. He started with the bar through Stiles’ eyebrow, mouthing over it gently since it was only two months old and still sore. Next was the sterling hoop looping around his upper helix. Then the nipples rings, Derek’s favorites, judging by the way his boyfriend never stopped fondling or tasting them. It always ended with his tongue piercing, probably because Derek knew the effect of his own slow kisses, beard rasping, lips pillowy and irresistible.

                “We should christen the apartment,” Stiles suggested, smoldering inside from Derek’s heavy heat pressing firmly, lusciously against him.

                The wolf snorted. “We have had sex here more times than I can count.”

                Stiles huffed and crawled on top of his boyfriend, adjusting their limbs while the alpha watched with amusement. He sank down to his elbows, their noses almost touching, eyes inescapably linked. “I am trying to work up to a proposition to blow you, and you are sabotaging yourself.”

                “Sorry.” The wolf smirked, giving a kitten lick to the underside of Stiles’ chin.  

                Stiles’ grumble turned into a pleased noise as he slid down Derek’s body and cupped his swelling cock through his jeans. He bit into his bottom lip, moaning quietly behind his teeth as he parted the fly. The outline of Derek’s dick was visible, straining in brazen relief against the front of his soft, cotton briefs.

                With some prodding and goading, the alpha lifted his hips, his pants and underwear subsequently peeled down to his knees. Stiles cooed at the sight before him, rubbing his cheek against the bristly hair of Derek’s inner thighs, mouthing at his balls and the base of his flushed dick.

                “ _Stiles._ ” A hand dropped onto the crown of his head, massaging, threatening to tug his hair.

                Stiles always cherished the first broad lick he gave to Derek’s cock, tracing the prominent vein on the underside with the ball of his tongue ring. It never failed to make his boyfriend tremor all over, to flex his smooth, muscled thighs with restlessness.  

                He jacked his alpha’s dick a few times, the foreskin slipping over the ridge of the cockhead. The exposed tip was a blushing pink, dewy and perfect. Stiles sighed, overcome, as he sucked the head, dragging the metal ball of his piercing along its sensitive slit.  

                Derek grunted, trying to raise one leg only to remember that he was still tangled in his pants, with Stiles kneeling on the crotch of his jeans at that very moment. A growl of frustration vibrated through the air, and Stiles only managed to hide his smile by taking a mouthful of dick.

                He took a particular sort of pleasure in coaxing Derek’s beta to the surface. It was never the primary aim of their encounters, and Stiles never felt a sense of triumph or superiority when it occurred. Rather, he felt blessed, rewarded to experience such an intimate piece of the person he loved.  

                Stiles relaxed the suction of his cheeks and lips, bobbing gently so that the wolf tapped the back of his loose throat. Saliva trailed down the length of Derek’s cock, greasing Stiles’ fist that was twisting around the base. He flicked his eyes upwards, catching the alpha’s gaze, taking the rest of Derek’s dick into his mouth. His nosed touched warm skin, his eyes watering, but for a few seconds, he cradled Derek on his tongue, in the back of his throat.  

                A bitten-off howl forced its way out of Derek’s mouth, and he slurred, “Soon, Stiles. Soon.” Stiles couldn’t look away from him. Honestly, the wolf was so pretty with his fluorescent eyes and elongated, glistening fangs, his neck tipped back, so bare and tantalizing. How could he not fall in love with that over and over?  

                Stiles tapped Derek’s hip, a well-known signal between them, and lifted himself a little higher on his hands. The wolf groaned deeply, holding the sides of Stiles’ face, thumbing across his cheekbones. He bucked his hips with the little leverage he could muster, fucking through the slick tunnel of Stiles’ mouth. He stilled as he came, twitching with tight movements, the muscles of his stomach convulsing.

                His breaths were heavy, the only context in which Stiles ever heard Derek pant or struggle to gain his breath.   

                “Come ’ere,” the alpha breathed, eyes dreamy and soft, looking suitably wrecked. Stiles wiped his mouth and burrowed against Derek’s side.

                He felt wonderful, slack-jawed, the back of his throat scratchy and used. He always liked feeling a little raw after sucking cock, especially since his wolf would coddle him so lovingly afterwards.

                The kisses they traded were wet and long and dizzying, Derek’s hand warm and slippery with his own spit as it circled Stiles’ cock. Stiles finished with his come streaking across the alpha’s stomach.

                Stiles felt even more boneless than he had fifteen minutes ago, definitely sweatier. He and Derek were staring at the ceiling, surrounded by packing boxes full of plaid shirts and DVDs and mismatched plateware and lamps. Their limbs overlapped and meshed.  

                “I talked to your dad today,” Derek mentioned, his thumbnail scratching lightly across Stiles’ sternum. “I invited him over for dinner this week.”

                “I’ll call him and tell him to come over Friday.”

                Derek’s eyebrows scrunched in that hopelessly cute way they did when he was puzzled. “Why Friday?”

                Stiles hummed and smiled, his eyes fluttering closed. “Because today is Sunday, and we’ll need an ample amount of time to fuck across, and against, every surface in our apartment.”


	6. The Birthday

                “Is it an exercise in futility to even ask the question?” Stiles mumbled through the thick steam. He was leaning backwards against Derek while the wolf soaped his chest and belly. Despite being in the shower for a good half hour already, Stiles found himself no cleaner than he had been when he first awoke this morning. Derek’s hands had kept wandering.  

                The alpha replied primly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

                His boyfriend’s fingers were circling and tweaking his nipples, trying to distract him. Not again. There had already been orgasms aplenty, and Stiles was determined. He knocked Derek’s hands away and then intertwined their fingers to hold them captive.

                “You have told me the same exact thing every year, for the last three years. If you say it again this year, I will castrate you. And that threat should really frighten you because you know how much I love your balls.”

                Derek nibbled playfully at the back of his ear, obviously unintimidated. “If I say the same thing every year, why do you keep asking?” Stiles turned around to confront the wolf, lips pursed, brows slanting with gentle disapproval.

                “There is only room for one smart-ass in this relationship, buddy.” He poked Derek in the chest for emphasis. In return, the alpha grinned and obliterated whatever hardened, stern façade Stiles had been attempting by squirting a dollop of shampoo onto the crown of his head.

                Stiles puffed. “Don’t think you can sidetrack me with your massaging fingers and your nakedness.” Perhaps he would have sounded more sincere if he hadn’t been purring as Derek scrubbed at his scalp.  

                “It’s that important to you?” The wolf asked, quietly enough that Stiles almost missed it over the noise of the splattering water.

                Stiles smoothed his hands over Derek’s slippery chest and sighed. “I want you to like it,” he replied pitifully.

                The alpha pulled him in close, and they looped their arms around one another. “I always like it. You know me better than anyone else, Stiles. I can always tell how much love and planning you put into it.”

                “You’re being evasive,” Stiles murmured into the wolf’s skin.  

                “Ask me.”  

                Stiles lifted his head, squinting his eyes in suspicion. Derek was being too accommodating. Their conversation hadn’t even escalated yet to the point where Stiles tried to bribe an answer out of him with promises of sexual favors. It was a time-honored tradition between them.

                “What do you want for your birthday?”  

                “For you to marry me.”

                “That’s one hell of an answer,” Stiles replied vacantly. The portions of his brain responsible for higher cognitive abilities had exploded five seconds ago. “I thought you were just going to mention the title of some stuffy piece of nineteenth-century literature. I know how much you like those.”

                Derek merely raised one shoulder in a shrug, a small smile on his lips. “Will you?”

                “Unequivocally yes,” he breathed. Derek put a stop to that, kissing the rest of the air from his lungs, hugging him hard enough that Stiles’ feet nearly left the slippery tiles.

                “Your dad’s been safeguarding the ring for the last several months.”     

                “I’m too clever,” Stiles sniffed proudly, pressing kisses up the side of his wolf’s neck.

                “Too nosy,” Derek corrected, water dripping like crystals off the ends of his eyelashes.

                “Asshole.” He swatted the alpha’s shoulder, smiling and resting his cheek against a perfectly sculpted deltoid. “You know, once we get married, you won’t be allowed to complain about me pressing my cold feet against you in bed anymore.”

                Derek hummed and humored him. “Why’s that?”

                “Under California law, I’ll be entitled to half of your body heat.”

                “You’re ridiculous,” his fiancé rumbled, combing through his sudsy hair with a fondness that was impossible to ignore. Almost as an afterthought, Derek murmured, “You’re not disappointed, are you? That you didn’t come home to 1568 roses or candles or something?”

                Stiles’ forehead scrunched. “1568 roses?”

                “The number of days since we met.” Derek’s words stumbled over one another, halting, like they did when the wolf was self-conscious.

                Stiles grinned into the ball of Derek’s shoulder before lifting his face. He totally had his fiancé pegged. Complete fucking wonderful sap.

                “Hush,” he admonished softly, lifting onto his toes and clinging to Derek’s neck. “This was perfect. You still make me feel like I did 1568 days ago, like the world has turned upside down when I see you. I don’t need anything else.”   


	7. The Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONE. It feels so good to post a last chapter, like a baby bird flying the nest.  
> Thank you, glorious readers <3

                Stiles loved Sundays. Derek didn’t work them anymore since he had cut back his hours at the bookstore. His cousin, Malia, worked there nearly as much as he did now, so it had only been right to give her the upstairs apartment when they bought their house.

                He snuffled contently against Derek’s back, having starfished across his husband during the night. Stiles eased back to consciousness, warm, rubbing his morning stubble against the soft skin under his cheek.

                A grunt came from underneath him, and Stiles grinned, stretching his neck to kiss the wolf’s shoulder. He combed through the back of Derek’s hair, longer now than he used to wear it. Rolling, silky waves that the wolf kept pushed back from his face and ears.

                Derek’s next birthday would be his forty-first, but Stiles didn’t think he had ever been more beautiful than he was now. It wasn’t just the supernatural genes, ensuring that the alpha would still look thirty when he was fifty. His husband carried this softness, this tenderness, in his smile and the corners of his eyes.

                It wasn’t like Stiles had just noticed this overnight—their six-year anniversary was in a few weeks after all. Just, the last few months, a need had been building inside of him, and he had only recently started to understand what it was.

                What felt like a low-grade heat had been simmering underneath his skin, unrelenting, leaving him insatiable. He needed more than to be fucked, craving something deeper and more fulfilling. He was aching to be bred.   

                “Can I help you with something?” The alpha mumbled into his pillow, cracking one eye open.

                “Just looking,” Stiles replied, tracing Derek’s soft lips with the pad of his thumb. He felt the rush of air from his husband’s nose as he snorted.

                “I don’t understand what’s so fascinating,” he grumbled, turning back into the pillow.

                “Oh, please. You know you’re gorgeous.” He coaxed Derek’s face out of hiding by a gentle tug of his hair. “You know I think you’re gorgeous.” His hands skimmed the wolf’s sides as he ducked forward to suck Derek’s earlobe.

                The alpha rumbled and shifted slightly, maybe nudging his growing hard-on against the mattress. Stiles loved to play with him in the mornings when he was so sweet and malleable.

                “You should know that when you get that first touch of gray at your temples, I’m going to cream myself. And that salt and pepper in your beard and chest hair…” He purred at the thought and proceeded to leave some wet, throbbing kisses against Derek’s neck.

                “Are you sore from last night?” His husband husked, finally lifting his head from the pillow, looking over his shoulder.

                “Nope.” Stiles let the “p” at the end of the word pop and licked over his lips. He beamed and dropped onto his back on the other half of the mattress, instantly spreading his knees to make room for Derek.

                The wolf moved in and dropped down over him, locking their fingers together and pushing them over Stiles’ head. The warm metal of Derek’s wedding band slipped smoothly along the underside of his finger. The alpha’s mouth was a little stale from sleep, but it was plush and slick and seductive. Stiles squeezed his husband’s hands tighter, panting, curling his legs over Derek’s hips.

                A laugh vibrated against his lips, tickling. “Don’t entangle me just yet. I need to find the lube and condoms. They’re still here. Somewhere.” Derek cast a cursory look around the bedcovers.

                “About that…” Stiles’ fingertips traced over sharp ridges of cheekbone, anchoring Derek’s eyes to his. “Maybe. Maybe we could forego the condom.”

                The body above him turned rigid, but Derek’s mouth went soft and parted. Stiles let his hands slide up and down his husband’s back, massaging the base of Derek’s spine until his posture relaxed.

                Stiles murmured, “I can’t stop thinking about it. You, with our pups. You’re going to be the best daddy.” The alpha’s eyes sparked cold, bright blue, suddenly extinguished as he closed his eyes and tipped their foreheads together. “I’m ready,” Stiles whispered, rooting his hand in Derek’s hair, “I know you’ve been ready for a while, but are you—still?”

                The wolf’s inhale was jagged and wet, at least partly a sob. He crushed their lips together, tongues mingling, mouths slapping and sucking gently in tandem.

                “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m ready.”

                Derek found the lube inside one of the pillowcases—Stiles didn’t even know how that happened—and lifted Stiles’ right leg over his shoulder, his warm, encompassing hand dragging along his thigh.

                The wolf coated two fingers with lube and pushed them inside, testing how loose he was from last night. Stiles snickered at the assured, little rumbling noise that came from Derek, only to be taught a lesson for teasing when the alpha tapped on his prostate.  

                Derek replaced his fingers, and Stiles felt gloriously humbled, taking inch after inch of his cock. His husband held onto his raised knee, keeping him spread wide, rolling his hips forward with languid thrusts. Christ, it always stunned him how deep Derek could reach when he fucked him like this.   

                He moaned and rested his hands on the full curves of the alpha’s ass, feeling the rhythm of his fucking and the flex of his muscles.

                “Are you trying to slow bone a baby into me?” Stiles’ smile spread like molasses, sweet and slow.

                “And if I am?” Derek asked, nipping playfully at the inside of his knee. He gave another crude grind of his cock that delayed Stiles' response.

                Panting, Stiles replied, “No complaints here, but I still took my birth control yesterday, so it might be a week or two before anything starts cooking in this oven.” He patted his belly consolingly. “And even then, probably not until my heat.”

                Derek drew him into a heavy kiss. “I know,” he agreed softly. “I just want to make love to my husband.”

                Stiles laughed, his vision swimming, as he shook his head with fondness. The wolf renewed his pace, stuffing him full with easy rocks of his body.

                “You know,” Stiles commented, lashes fluttering as he swallowed back a throaty groan, “I’ll have to take out my nipple rings so that I can nurse. You better give them some loving before they’re gone.”

                Derek made a rough, wounded noise and sealed his mouth over one of the bars, tonguing and teasing it.

                Speech was becoming a challenge with all of the beautiful things happening to his body, but Stiles persevered. “I should probably take the rest out, too. Babies like to pull on things that shouldn’t be pulled.”

                “And the tongue ring?” Cold lube drizzled onto Stiles’ cock just as the wolf delivered a particularly dirty drive of his hips.

                Stiles keened and arched into the warm hand around his dick, grinning, and breathed, “I think an exception can be made.”


End file.
